


The one you should never have let out of the bag

by Trojie



Series: Stories that aren't about cats [2]
Category: RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-10
Updated: 2010-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-13 14:46:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Handsome Bob made the mistake of telling One Two the truth. One Two made the mistake of asking for more details.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The one you should never have let out of the bag

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-read by the stunning photoclerk.

One Two made the mistake of asking Bob what he wanted.

That was it, right there. Bob made the mistake of telling him and One Two made the mistake of asking for more detail, like he was fucking interested or something, which he _isn't_. Just let it go, One Two, just forget the whole fucking thing, that's what you should have done, but no. And now he's stuck in a bloody SUV in a dark bloody alleyway with his best mate, who said _I don't want the strippers, One Two. I want you_ with the kind of look on his face he doesn't even get before a job; a serious look. Handsome Bob doesn't look serious. Handsome Bob is a smiler, but not now.

They're supposed to be on their way to Bob's big fucking send-off right now, Bob's supposed to be sandwiched in between a pair of extremely expensive hookers, but instead.

Instead, Bob's telling One Two exactly what it is he wants to do to him, talking low and urgent with his head in his hands, almost like he doesn't really want One Two to hear, but One Two asked.

'- what I want to do to you, you'd never let me - but I'd, I'd just put my mouth on you, you'd like that, I'd get on my knees and fucking suck you, One Two, deep and wet and so fucking good-'

One Two bites down hard on the instinct to breath a little deeper. 'Bob, I'm, I'm not-'

'I know you're not, mate, I know, and I'd never- but you asked, and I reckon, I'm gone tomorrow anyway, might as well fucking say it -'

 _No, don't say it, if you say it I have to hear it, you idiot -_ 'The lads are waiting, Bobski, we should go -'

'They can wait, can't they? Christ, mate, I'm getting sent down tomorrow- '

One Two gives in, gives in to that quiet, hoarse voice. 'Yeah, Bob, they can wait,' he says softly, and he wants to pat Bob on the back, but he can't, he just can't bring himself to touch now. 'C'mon, don't think about it,' he says instead.

Bob's fingers clench in the short stubble of his hair, like he's forcing himself not to react, and One Two doesn't have a fucking clue what to say so he says, against what little fucking better judgement he has, 'What- what else, Bob? Y'can tell me anything, you know that.'

The silence drags out even longer, but eventually Bob starts muttering into his hands again, quieter than before, and when One Two finally manages to tune in to the words, he can't seem to _stop_ listening, can't close his mouth properly, can't even swallow, his throat's gone paper-dry at what Bob's saying, because what Bob's saying is '- you could have me, I'd let you - fuck, I want you to - I'd get myself open for you, wet like a bird, One Two, you'd never know the difference, it's just somewhere to stick it, innit. It'd be tight, mate, tight and deep, cos I don't - I don't do that, I've never, but for you - I'd make it good for you, I swear-' and Bob does swallow, hard and nervous, '- close your eyes or whatever you wanted, wouldn't have to worry about me, trust me, wouldn't have to touch me like that, I've got hands, but you could just, just do it - '

He looks up at One Two then, from between the fingers of his hands splayed over his face, and whatever he sees, it makes him look away, punch the dashboard.

'Bob-' One Two says, still not sure what _to_ say, except that was a hell of a fucking confession, and deep in the pit of his stomach he's sick, but it's _Bob_ , and he trusts Bob, and Bob trusts him, enough to tell him that, enough to tell him something that'd get him knifed in certain circles, mostly the kind of circles they move in. He wants to tell Bob it's okay (even though it isn't, even though he can't think of Bob like that, even though now, he doesn't know if he _does_ trust Bob any more).

But the moment's gone. Now Bob's face is serious again; he shakes his hand out, ruefully. 'Just- just fucking forget it, One Two, I'm an idiot. C'mon, let's go to that party.' He smiles, his usual cheeky-fucker Handsome Bob smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

Later, when they've both drunk far too much and it's hours until Bob's hearing, Bob's last hours as a free man, he will ask One Two for a dance, and One Two will say yes, glad he's not saying yes or no to anything else, and they'll sway awkwardly from side to side in the middle of the dancefloor while Bob holds on like he's about to be swept out to sea, and One Two will try to imagine he's dancing with a girl, which will only lead to imagining Bob, Handsome fucking Bob, the lady-killer, open and wet like a bird for him, just like he said, and wondering what the churning in the pit of his stomach really means, and why he can't get the image out of his head.


End file.
